An Escape
by ShortieMonster
Summary: I realised that to rid myself of the demons that haunted me, I had to rid the world of the cause of my demons...I had to commit murder. I had to kill her. But what I never expected was that though killing her was my escape, it was her's as well. For her, death was welcomed with open arms and anticipated with tears of relief. One-shot. Read and Review! Warning - Mild swearing.
1. An Escape

**A/N - Okay so this is a one-shot I came up with one day when I was in a really..._frustrated_...mood. So, warning, though I like...never swear in my stories, this has a few swear words. Not major ones though. **

**I will be posting an alternative ending to this one-shot as a second chapter because towards the end I ended up feeling rather sympathetic...so...we shall see how it turns out. **

**Hope you enjoy and please review!**

**WARNING - Contains mild swearing**

**DISCLAIMER - Consider it disclaimed**

**An Escape**

Cammie's POV

It was right there, right there in the palm of my hand. And it possessed more power than I could ever imagine: the power to kill, the power to save, the power to protect and the power to attack. And all I had to do was pull the trigger.

I weighed the object in my hand, lifting it up and down. The cold metal felt cool against my skin and it kept me alert, even though I hadn't slept in 51 hours. If I was holding such power, I needed to be fully aware when using it. I needed to be fully aware of what I was about to do.

As I stood in the dimly lit hallway, I stared at my reflection in the glass window.

My hair was matted and I had scratches on both cheeks. My face was caked with dirt, but what struck me the most were my eyes. They were glassed over and expressionless. They looked like black holes that were staring into oblivion. They looked like the eyes of a killer.

And I suppose in every way I was one. I was a cold hearted killer.

The only thing was that I had not yet committed the murder. I had not yet pulled the trigger and released the power contained in the cold, black, metal object in my palm.

I looked up and stared into my own eyes one more time. _This is it, _I thought, _my escape; my chance to rid myself of the demons that have been haunting me. _

I felt my heart slightly turn to stone. I liked it though. I wasn't ashamed that I had become cruel, I was proud of myself. Proud that while most people would have been driven to the edge of insanity, I had maintained coherent thought and had been able to plan my task to perfection.

I looked away from my reflection in the glass and at the grey, metal door across the hallway. In five short strides I had reached it and was turning the knob. It squeaked slightly because of rusted hinges and took quite a bit of effort to force open.

I stood in the doorway for 15 seconds, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the darkness, before reaching for the light and flipping the switch. The light flickered a couple of times before casting a dim glow across the room.

There in the centre on the room was the one and only Catherine Goode – hands bound behind her back, feet tied to the legs of the chair she was currently in, mouth duct taped shut. She looked helpless, pathetic and completely unlike the woman I had come to know quite well over the past few years.

After all, you don't forget the attributes of the woman who was personally responsible for your torture. That's a face that is eternally embedded into you memory, a scab you can't scratch off.

I walked towards her and kneeled down on the floor. I was purposely mocking her. Being lower than her was a sign of submission, but we both knew that I had the upper hand in this turn of events.

I raised my eyebrows – first the one and then the other – as a sly smirk spread across my lips.

"How does the _great_ Catherine Goode feel being beaten by her own hostage? Not so high and mighty anymore I assume."

She glared at me. And if looks could kill I would have died ten times over. She attempted to struggle out of her knots, but soon realised it was a lost cause. She slumped against the back of the chair, defeated.

"Listen, I'm gonna take the duct tape off your mouth now and a word to the wise: don't scream. No one's here to hear you and I can't have you losing your voice. I have a few questions that I need answers to."

I slowly rose from my position of the floor and before she could process it, ripped the duct tape from her mouth. She'd been anticipating that though and just as I was pulling my hand away she tried to bite it.

The key word in that equation being _tried_. I pulled my hand back just before she had the chance to make contact.

I gave her a chastising look.

"Now Catherine, didn't your mother ever teach you that biting people is a _very_ childish and nasty thing to do?" I said as I pointed my finger accusingly.

"Listen here girl, you are in _way_ over your head!" she screamed, "You think I'm scared? Of _you_? You've got it wrong. You could never shoot me! You're too much of a goodie-two-shoe. You're too much of a coward to do anything!"

"Oh yeah? Because the way I see it, _you're _the only coward in this room."

"I swear! I will kill you!"

"Look at yourself!" I screamed, "Look how pathetic you are! You're hands and feet are bound yet you're still making death threats! _I'm_ the one holding the gun! _I'm_ the one who's about to commit murder!"

Catherine studied me with a hard expression before saying,

"Say it. You were going to say more. Say it."

"Whereas you? _You're _going to be the victim for once and you will know what it feels like to lose everything", I finished in a whisper.

And then I saw something that I never would have expected in my wildest dreams. I witnessed Catherine Goode break down. I saw her _cry_.

And it wasn't just teary eyes or a sniffle. No, she curled up (or as much as a person who's restrained can) and sobbed so hard it racked her body. She sounded like a dying whale; a ferocious and agonising sound that erupted from her inner being.

And as I watched her in her weakness I couldn't help but think, _I caused this?_

But as I stood there studying her, I knew that I was not the cause of her sobs. I'd only ever witnessed one other person cry like this. And it was not over such a trivial matter as being on death row.

No, these tears were from a broken soul, a _deeply _broken soul.

The only other person I'd ever witnessed cry like this was my mother…when she found out that my father had died. And it changed her…_not_ for the better.

So as I watched Catherine, I swear I felt a sliver of sympathy for her, because once upon a time, she was hurt so badly that it changed her, forever.

But that sympathy quickly faded as I noticed that her tears had changed. No longer was she crying because of loss. Now she was crying because of relief. And _that _is a _very _different thing.

I then realised that though I was going to kill her - take her breath away from her - she was okay with that. Because she had demons that she couldn't escape. She had scars that were embedded into her inner core…and death? Death was her solution. Death was _her escape. _

And as much as I wanted to kill her – to watch her bleed – I couldn't stand to give her the satisfaction of an escape. Because I would then always remember how I'd taken _mercy _on the woman who was solely responsible for the torture that I had endured since the first time I had encountered her in Boston.

And no matter how much I hated being a little more like what she was, there was no freakin' way that Catherine Goode deserved pity; that she deserved an ounce of humanity.

So as her tears slowly subsided to a silent stream that caressed her cheeks, I took out the bullets out of my gun and put them in my pocket.

Catherine's eyes widened with a look of terror and trepidation.

"What are you doing?" she asked, her voice panicked, "You'll need those bullets to shoot me."

I looked her squarely in the eyes and said,

"I'm not going to shoot you."

"What?! Of course you are! You're not gonna let me live! You've been waiting to kill me since Boston. You'd never be able to live with yourself if you didn't kill me now!"

"Why do want death so badly? Huh? Why is it that you _want _me to kill you? So that my conscience will take over and the guilt will set in making me bloody miserable for the rest of my life knowing I killed an egotistical, psychologically disturbed bitch? Because that won't happen. Or is it that you know that if I let you live, the world's best agents will find you and give you a hell of a harder time than I'm giving you now? Or is it that you're _scared_? Because you know how much wrong you've done and there is nothing you can do to reverse it. You lost the only relative you ever had – your son! Your own flesh and blood. And no matter how much it pains you to admit it; you can't deal with the grief it has left you. Or, I know, it's because-"

"Oh _shut up_!" she shouted, "Do you even know how to shut that trap of yours? And no, it's not because of any of you _oh-so-original _theories. You wanna know why I want death? I'll tell you. I want death because I've accomplished everything I've ever wanted to. I brought down a Gallagher Girl, and though she got back up because of her stupid fighting nature, she remains scarred. And now she stands before me trying to get rid of those scars but hopelessly failing in her attempt. And I find it freakin' amusing. So, no, though you think I'm broken, I'm not."

I stared at her. Her face was red from all the raging and her forehead was sweaty even though it was snowing outside. I studied the face of the monster that had haunted my dreams for more than 5 years and then I turned around and walked to the door.

"Where are going?"

I stopped, but didn't turn around.

"Home."

And then I walked through the metal door frame and out of the place where I had been held captive for more than a year.

I didn't bother taking any precautions such as locking doors or setting security systems. Catherine's knots were not coming undone and she had taken the liberty of making sure that the prison was _very _well hidden…20 metres underground.

So I just walked out and left her to rot in the small grey room where her mind would drive her over the edge of insanity and she would curse the day she ever attempted to kill me.

I left my demons with her, left them all behind and though the scar was never going to go away, I felt it slightly fade. No longer would I be haunted by a ghost.

No longer was I the weakling.

**A/N - How was it? Hopw you enjoyed it. Please review!**

**Bye!**


	2. An Escape - Alternative Ending

**An Escape – Alternative Ending**

**(Everything in the story is the same up until this point)**

I then realised that though I was going to kill her - take her breath away from her - she was okay with that. Because she had demons that she couldn't escape. She had scars that were embedded into her inner core…and death? Death was her solution. Death was her escape.

The thought of showing her compassion repulsed me. Why should I even pity her after everything she made my family and I go through? Why should I show her mercy after everything she did to Gallagher? To my sisters?

But as soon as those thoughts entered my mind, I was nauseated by myself. These were the exact kind thoughts that _she_ would have been thinking. Showing compassion and mercy and kindness was _not _in her nature. And if our positions were reversed she would have walked out of this room without another thought, willing me to rot away in the depths of a cold cell, metres below the Earth's surface.

I couldn't wait to breathe fresh air again. I wanted to feel the warm embrace of my family. I wanted to see something other than metallic _grey_. But most of all…I wanted to get the hell out of the same room as Catherine Goode.

But the only way that was happening was if I finished killing her.

I slowly passed the gun from hand to hand as I convinced myself this was the right thing to do. My hands trembled in anticipation yet I held a firm grip on the gun, resolute in my decision.

I clicked the safety off and looked square into the eyes of the cruellest woman I had ever known who, looking dishevelled and broken, gave a curt nod and closed her eyes in response.

And then I pulled the trigger.

The shot reverberated throughout the cold cell and I heard her body go limp in the metal chair.

But I never saw the aftermath. I never saw where the bullet hit, but I knew it had lodged itself in her heart. I never saw the blood as it oozed out of her wound and soaked her shirt, but I knew it would be the same crimson as it always is. I never saw her body go limp as her soul departed from its shell. I never saw the colour drain from her face.

But I never needed to. I knew everything that would happen to her as she suffered her instantaneous death. But nothing is instantaneous. Instant noodles take 2 minutes and instant pudding takes 10 minutes. Nothing is ever instant. So it's guaranteed that while the bullet penetrated her heart and her lungs collapsed and her vital organs shut down, she was in excruciating pain. Even if only for a few seconds. But her death was _never_ instantaneous. No death _ever _is.

But like I said, I never saw her looking dead. I didn't need to. Because although I gave her the escape when I was looking for mine, I knew she would get punished for the things she had done.

Because now the Gates of Hell were awaiting her arrival, and into the depths of Hell she would go.


End file.
